


Purer

by annaspiringwriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annaspiringwriter/pseuds/annaspiringwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark decides she should not trust Petyr Baelish to decide matters of life and death in her place. So she retraces her steps and meets a long awaited figure from her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sansa/Sandor story. The premise is that Sansa makes Petyr Baelish abandon his plan to marry her off to Ramsay Bolton, they agree to return to the Vale. Of course, unexpected things occur along the way. 
> 
> Sandor is left to die by Arya, but he is saved by a man from a village not far from where he fought Brienne.

              He chases a shadow through storms of the night. The form should be engulfed by darkness, as its supreme power calls to it each shadow, drawn by its emanating blackness. Still, he sees it, for it emanates a peculiar light, deep from within. It`s as though he knows that whatever he follows stems good, even amidst his turbulent nightmare of a life. As if no matter how dark he is, he will always cherish the light of the vision he still wants to turn into darkness. His night, his illusion, his flicker of fragile illumination.

              He runs, stumbles, runs again, faster and faster until he feels out of breath, but he doesn`t need inhaling to keep on chasing, fueled by his utmost desire to walk in line with that shadow. He`s getting closer to it, imagines how the feeble light shines upon the crevices of his face, yet he doesn`t turn his back from the exposure of his scars. He doesn`t know where this courage comes from, probably from the fact that he wants too much. Too much, enough that he couldn`t bear to turn around. Not now, when he is so close.           

              Suddenly, as he `s creeping closer, his arm extended towards it, the shadows slowly and gently spins on its heels and he finally sees her again. Somehow, he knew all along who the shadow was. So he stares at her, tall and graceful as ever, gentler than he remembers, than _she could be_ after everything she`s been through.

             ”I am yours. I want you to remember” she commands softly, a demand nonetheless.

              ”You never were, you never will be” he counters, expecting her to fly away soon.

              ”Then I want you to believe I will” she whispers, turning to shadow again, a faint and shy smile on her lips.

             He stays rooted to the spot, kissed by the pieces of light she left behind. His eyes feel the sad curse of unshed tears.He still cannot believe.

******************************************************************

             When Sandor wakes it`s with the sour taste of a glimmer of hope he should have had the strength to kill a long time ago. Instead, he allows it to live still, to prosper in his wild dreams from nights and days of solitude.

             It`s the only thing that keeps him, really. Keeps him alive, though he wishes everyday he weren`t. Keeps him sane, yet at the same time represents the only madness he`s ever allowed to take hold of him and never let go. Keeps him wondering whether he`ll ever succumb to it completely. But that could only happen in her presence and he doesn`t dare to fully hope he is destined to ever see her again.

             He knows where he is. It`s a plain, simple, yet oddly serene cottage. He was given a room of his own and remembers an older man tending to his wounds, stitching them and cleaning away the infectious ones. He still feels the pain ingrained deep within his bones, terrible and persistent like his thoughts of  Gregor, the brother he might never be able to kill. A whirlwind of suffering though he knows he should be grateful he`s alive, after the Stark girl left him to die from his wounds. Was it mercy, was it cruelty ? He doesn`t pretend to know, to understand that fierce, annoying and fighting pain in the ass.

             She was his last connection to Sansa, apart from the memories, the dreams, the remorse he still feels. Nothing more, perhaps a possibility for a bag of gold after all, even though in the end she didn`t prove to be profitable. He tried to help her because of the fatality that will haunt him till the end of his days. He couldn`t make things better for Sansa, no matter how much he wanted to. There were too many enemies, too many traps, too many lies to protect her from. 

             And then there was himself. But he chooses not to think about it that way in his waking hours. At night, dreams and desires rule and he finds himself ignited by the only fire he`s ever begged to consume his all.

           *****************************************************************

 

             The day dawns with futile rays of sunshine permeating the clouds, passing though the quite large window of his room and electing a few places on his bed, and after some time moving in rhythm with the growing morning towards his face.

             ”Good morning, my lord. I hope your sleeping hours gave you at least a few moments of mercy last night. May I inquire ?”

             ”I`m not a lord, nor am I a ser. Not a knight. Piss on them.” He manages to rasp, but there`s a strong pain in his chest when he does and he wonders how long he`s been unconscious. _Not a knight._ This is what he told her innumerable times, trying to crush her foolish dreams, refusing to be associated with them. How he longs now for a words from her, be it even knight. Or ser. Or lord.

            The man seems taken by surprise, perhaps offended. But he lets it pass, unsure how to approach him. He isn`t young, though he isn`t very old either. He`s on the verge of a new time, at that mysterious time in life between strength and wisdom.

            ”Very well. I don`t know who you are, so my apologies for mistaking you for something you`re not. I am well accustomed with this sort of  insult, but I didn`t mean it as such. May I inquire who you are, then ? Or would you rather be told who I am and why you`re here ?”

             ”Aye, I know that without your help I`d be long dead. You`ve got my attention. Spit it all.”

             ”Quite the language, from what I hear. Perhaps that got you beaten blood within an inch of your life.” The man seems to read Sandor`s annoyance, so he makes a soothing gesture with his hand. ”I mean no disrespect. Whoever you are, no matter what you did, you surely didn`t deserve what happened to you. I tended to your wounds, so please listen to what I have to say.”

              Sandor snorted, but nodded notheless.

              ”My name is Nathan Branford, but you, like everyone else, can call me Nathan. I am nothing more than a peasant from one of the small villages under the control of House Redfort. You are in the Vale, as I`m sure you already know. Perhaps you wonder why I can address myself like this and why I mistook you for a lord. I am the only person in this village and surrounding ones that can teach people how to speak and even write properly. The lords never cared for us much and care less about whether we know how to speak or not, but my father didn`t want me to go through life like a wild beast, so he though me to read and write and left me a couple of books. This is what I thrive to do in our village and it seems there are children who love stories enough to be eager to learn.”

              ”You seem like a dreamy, blubbering fool.” Sandor`s words are harsh but his eyes have renounced some of their furry. In a way, this talking pain in the ass reminds him of Sansa. Honest, believing in something he would snort at anytime.

              ”I gathered you`d think and perhaps say that much by now. You don`t seem like pleasent company, with all due respect. But better unpleasant company than dishonest one, I`ll give you that. As to why I called you my lord, I recall your armour, or what was left of it. It was abused , torn and terribly assaulted, but it was still fit for a lord. Or a knight, a fiercely skilled one at that. Am I wrong ?”

             ”Then you ought to be afraid, little man”, Sandor smiles sardonically, even though he is in no position to make threats.

             ”You would be dead, but for my help and my skills with the herbs. You would have made a feast for crows, no matter how skilled you have proved yourself on the battlefied.”

             ”Aye, you have a point. But I told you I`m not a knight. Why would you trust my honour ?”

              ”I trust every man until he gives me a reason not to” Nathan says smiling in turn.

              ”Then you are a bloody fool.”

              ”I am a fool, but if I hadn`t saved you, I would have been a murderer, for it was in my power to help you or to pass you by. So I chose to trust you. And that`s more than I can say about you, apparently.”

             ”Perhaps I wanted to be dead, after all.”

             ”Have you not a reason to live ?”

             He thinks about Sansa.  ”And what if that reason is killing me ?”

            ” _Then you ought to be like me. You ought to trust it to drive a dagger to your tainted heart, to kill you and bring you back so you can live for it, purer._ ”

             These are the words that break him, finally. He doesn`t know he`s crying until he feels the tears on his good cheek and wonders what would be like to feel their burning saltiness on the other one. But he`ll never know, much like he`ll never know her touch on it, on him, no matter how hard he prays for it.

              He thinks Nathan`s words are the truest and most terrifying words he`s ever heard, but he doesn`t tell him because he isn`t one for great statements.

             ”I am sorry, dear friend, for causing you such pain. I never meant to, though I believe every word I said to you with all my heart. And there was another reason why I thought you were noble and I still believe you are . During the time while I tended to your wounds, you kept tossing in your sleep, breathing rather than whispering a single name. One name, a thousand words and I dare think a thousand thoughts below that heavy brow of yours.

_Sansa_ _”_

_”_ I thought you were dreaming about Sansa Stark, that noble maid from the North we heard so much about. Words about her murdering the prince and turning into a direwolf and many more like that. I thought you knew her, that you were somehow acquainted with her, because she haunted you like no one else during your suffering.”

             ”So I beg you, friend, when you`re better again and at least a little bit free from your suffering, tell me your story. I won`t harm you, turn on you, judge you or betray your trust. Mayhaps I could help you with your guilt, just like I helped the stranger dying on the road.”

 

**_My story, Sandor Clegane thinks. Before his eyes flashes an image of his mother with his pretty little sister, once, before... Then Gregor, wilder than ever, years and years of Lannister service gone in a second and then her, Sansa Stark, sweeping away everything else like the northern winds of winter._ **


	2. Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor opens up

  ”I remember I was happy. Aye, I must have been, for I still know how it felt like to lose. Everything I thought was mine- my happiness, my face, my dreams of being a true and noble knight. It`s kind of fucking weird that I don`t have a distinct recollection of my joys, but I still live in the nightmare of my sorrows and pain every damned day and night. Do you like it thus far?  Not a pretty one, my story…nor one to recite at bedtime or to pretty little maidens.”Of course, her.

                ” As soon as I saw you, I gathered it would be unfair to expect a beautiful story from you. Even near death, you seemed haunted by something more terrible than your bodily wounds. But pray you, please continue.”

                The storyteller hesitates for a couple of long moments and then he seems to summon the courage to carry on. Just like he alwas does, whenever he has to light a fire or think about her. Which is always.

               ”I was seven when it all changed. It wasn`t all pretty  courtesies and warm smiles, not even before, because of Gregor. He loomed over me, the way he still does and it was enough for him to look at me and I would be frightened, scurrying in a corner with my cloud-shaped dreams and much other fucking nonsense. But then, he caught me one day while I was playing with his toy. He went into a rage, got madder than ever and held my face into the brazier. ”

                He feels Nathan clutching his hand, the one hanging by the edge of the bed, but he snorts derisively. He doesn`t need his pity, his mercy or his compassion. Or anyone`s. Almost.

               ”I felt it all burning, melting, disappearing. My face, my hair, my hopes and stupid dreams. Because even then I knew that people never look upon deformity with kindness or with indifference, something I got used to reading plainly everyday in their faces. They don`t give a fuck about the broken things, the broken toys of this world, unless they have a chance to abuse them some more.”

               ”But, but surely, your father...your parents. They must have been revolted. They must have punished him and loved you all the more.”

               ”Why ain`t you paying attention to what I`m saying?  It`s not a fairytale, or a pretty song for little birds. My father gave me some ointments and hid me from view, then lied to everyone that my bed caught fire and nothing could be done to save me. I don`t know, he might have had the fucking courage to tell everyone that Gregor rushed to my help, for all I know and care about him. The only one who cared was my sister. She was a darling thing, small, helpless and fragile, that is everything you shouldn`t be in this world. But she died too, mysteriously they say, but I **know** who was the cause for all my misfortunes. And while I was sitting there, crying my eyes out, not daring to look on the monstrosity of my ruined face, I swore to myself that I`d be the one to kill him. ”

              ”He is indeed a monster, the worst kind of evil, but you must not say such things.”

              Sandor snorted, but it sounded painful, strained and less biting than usual.

             ”You wanted to know my story, you fool of a little man. This is the only way I know how to tell it, the only way it matters. I swore then the only vow I intended to take, one of the few thoughts that is keeping me alive, the only one that kept me going strong for years and yearts. And I don`t want to stop. I can`t. **I don`t deserve to stop,** for I know no other mercy than killing. I am the Hound, the Lannister dog that serves its masters by scaring off their enemies. I`m almost as monstrous as him, so look upon the face you chose to save. ”

             ”I am, Sandor Clegane, Hound, whichever name you choose to call yourself. It doesn`t cast a new light upon your face, nor upon who your reputation makes you up to be. But I saw you, as no one else has seen you since you were a boy, screaming and whispering names in your sleep, prey to nightmares and terrors of the day, begging for understanding yet keeping it at bay with every ounce of strenght you still have. I saw you crying and they aren`t tears of water. They are tears of Hell and back and I don`t regret saving you if it means you`ll have a chance to make them stop falling.”

             „What do you mean?   What sort of pompous advice are you giving me?   ”

             ”The only one I`d give myself, I swear to you. Find the reason you`re living for. Be it your brother, be it something else, you ought to find it.”

             ”This isn`t all. You may as well know everything about the monster I am.I entered the Lannister`s service as a squire, but I was so good at killing that in time I raised higher than I ever thought I would. They used to call me a dog, for they believed me forever loyal, no matter how ugly I am. That is, until I couldn`t bear it anymore. They`re shit. The worst family of them all, much like mine. You must have heard rumors, what they say about them. Well, they`re all true, no matter how sick and twisted and shit they might sound.”

            ”Even the Queen Regent and Jaimie Lannister the Kingslayer...” Nathan mutters more to himself.

            ”Aye, they`re mad, the whole pack of them. Brother sleeping with sister and their child on the throne, fucking ruling. The only good thing comes when the Imp strikes some sense into him, but he cannot give Joeffrey what he deserves because Cersei has her claws on him. She always has. Downright hates him, just like Gregor hated me when I was a child. Nothing we can do about it, the world is shit. The night of the Blackwater, I knew I couldn`t stand it anymore. I would have fought  for them against men with swords and daggers and fear stinking out of their beings. But I couldn`t fight the fire.

 **I wasn`t going to burn for them**.”

           ”And...the Stark princess?   That name you were calling every night in your dream?  ”

           ”I am nothing to her. I was always the one who scared her the most. Even after everything I **tried** to do for her, she still couldn`t bear the sight of me. But I don`t blame her, not really. I wouldn`t trust myself either. I never did with her. I first saw her at Winterfell, pretty and pure and oh so taken with Joeffrey. Probably at first sight, aye, I`ll give it to him. But she was nothing to him, not even then. A curiosity, a distraction, a possible victim to torment when he had the permission of marriage and the certainty of her weakness.

           Poor little thing, she must have been so happy when they told her she would marry him some day, her night in shiny armor. I tried to warn her, to make her see him for what he was, even on the trip to King`s Landing. But she was so terrified of me the first time I spoke to her she couldn`t even utter an empty courtesy in the beginning. Sansa Stark, who could chirp something with almost everyone. Except me. I hated her for it, but not for long. She was the one I looked upon when I felt like I couldn`t bear their hypocrisy anymore, when I grew tired of Cersei being a cunt, of Joeffrey behaving like an idiot and of all the false knight and lords drawing breath in that stinking pile of a city. ”

          ”She never noticed?  You looking at her ? ”

           ”I think she was to innocent too notice and if she did I had already scared her witless so she never mentioned it to anyone. Then her fool of a father, with his haughty talk of honor and duty, got himself arrested and executed. I saved her life then. Joeffrey took her to the battlements to show her his head on a spike and I saw it in her eyes then. The crushed hopes, the desire to avenge the ones she loved...she almost threw him off then. Part of me wanted to let her have her small revenge, but I reckoned she was too good for them, too delicate and pretty and **real** to die that way. That was the first time she actually acknowledged me as something more than a brute. I think I saw hope in her eyes and I remembered I said to myself she was just a silly little girl.”

             ”Aye, I`ll admit she was kind of stupid for trusting those cunts. You can smell falsity on them from a mile off, but she had never encountered deceit before. From then on, the torture began. Joeffrey had the knights of the Kingsguard beat her in front of the court, she had to chirp her courtesies all they long and deny her family. She was a terrible liar, but those fools are vain enough to believe any praise, no matter how fucking strained. And I stood aside, I watched them beat her, humiliate her, throw their insults and mocking smiles at her and I never did anything to stop her. Only once, when Joeffrey had her stripped in court I almost smashed his head on the Iron Throne, but I only rasped a bitter enough. Then Tyrion fucking Lannister had to come and save her. I gave her my cloak, white and pristine like she was and thought that  I would never be enough, no matter what.”

              ”Enough?  Enough for what?   ”Nathan asks, his forehead creasing.

              ”Enough for her. You see, I wanted her, even then. I thought about her day and night, this child who was beaten around and called names and stripped in front of me. And I felt like a monster, but I wanted to help her. I guess I believed that if I could get her to believe me a fucking knight from a song, she would be willing to at least look me in the eye. But I am not a knight, nor a Ser, nor a hero from her stories. Still I saved her from the mob during a riot in King`s Landing, when that idiot Joeffrey was particularly mean to his loving people. She was afraid, terrified, all screams and whimpers and I helped her. I treated her gently and she clung to me and I brought her back to her cage. Unbowed, untainted, unharmed. Unless you count the damage they had inflicted upon her at court. But I couldn`t shield her from it, I couldn`t do much for her. Still she met me and thanked me, all pretty words and empty courtesies and I felt myself getting angrier. I wanted to talk some sense into her beautiful head…I told her knights are for killing, I made her believe I thought her a worthless little bird.

**But she`s the only one I would have burned for.**

 

             Then, the night of the Blackwater, I got drunk. Drunker than ever, drunker than myself. I wanted nothing more than to leave that forsaken place with her by my side. So I went to her room, the one I escorted her to so many times at Joeffrey`s command and I waited for her on the bed. I knew she would come to lock herself in when news of defeat started spreading. She was there, beautiful and terrified and everything I`d ever wanted. I told her to come with me, I promised to take her to Winterfell to her family, but she could barely look at me, frightened little thing. So  I threw her on the bed, I climbed on top of her and I held a knife to her throat and threatened her to sing me a song.”

               ” You wanted a song.” Nathan seems to think it over, still saying nothing more. Sandor feels condemned, pitied and understood at the same.

               ”And she did sing. She sang the Mother`s Hymn and I couldn`t bring myself to harm her. She deserved better and I knew she wanted to stay there and face her fate. It was her obvious choice. So i left her there, among the lions, the swords, the lies.”

             ”If that was her choice, I have to tell you something. You are a far better person than you give yourself credit. ”

             ”I am not. Don`t fucking presume to tell me what I am. I wanted to fuck her bloody.”

             ”But you didn`t. You could have, even only to prove yourself that you were indeed a monster, harming the only person who seemed to trust and perhaps care for you. And I respect you for it, although it doesn`t seem to matter to you.”

             ”I was then captured, somehow, by the stupidest thing I`ve ever heard of, the Brotherhood without Banners. They worship fire, of course. There I found Arya Stark, Sansa`s little sister, whom no one had seen in a while. She was a she-wolf, aye, fighting and talking her way out of everything – she accused me of killing her friend, which I did and I had to fight Beric Dondarrion. I almost lost to the fucker, because he had a flaming sword, but then I killed him and a crazy priest brought him back from the dead. I couldn`t believe my eyes – those lunatics had power, I`ll give them that. They released me and I got my hands on Arya Stark. I was thinking mayhaps I could get a bag of gold by delivering her to the Starks at Twins. But you damn well know what happened there, how the Freys and Lannisters killed them at a bloody wedding.”

                ” They are men without honor and will pay the price for their sins” Nathan says with solemn anger.

               ” Then I took her to the Vale, to see her aunt at the Eyrie, but she had died – threw herself through the Moon Door. As we were leaving that deserted, awful place, we met Brienne of Tarth. A woman, but less comely than an ugly man who was also a knight. She wanted to take the she-wolf with her, protect her she said, but I fought her. And I lost. I was there, wounded, reciting every crime I`d ever commited against Arya Stark, trying to convince me to end my suffering. She let me there, even after I told her about her pretty sister – she was staring ahead, then she got up and left. Not looking back.”

                ”Perhaps that was her mercy.”

               ”It was her punishment. She had a list of names she intended to kill and I was on it. She wanted me to suffer for it. Though I admire her for it. She`s brave and strong, not a foolish girl with dreams and all that. She`ll go far and never look back unless it`s to learn from her mistakes. And she wanted revenge, just like me. I understand that. I respect that. I wanted to try and help her for Sansa`s sake but she`s beyond my help, that`s all. Can`t say I haven`t tried and look where it`s gotten me. Sharing my story with a man who probably thinks I`m a monster.”

                 ”You`re no monster, that`s for sure. You`re no knight, though, as you said, knights are for killing. I respect it and I fear it, just like your Sansa Starka. Don`t fret and don`t protest. She might not have understood you, or what you wanted from her. You might not even understand that yourself yet, but she doesn`t think your a knight anymore. _**And she doesn`t think you`re a monster**._ ”

                _Sandor has never wanted as much to pray to the Gods for something to be true in his miserable life, but he wonders if it would be all in vain._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter. Hope you liked it :)  
> I won`t be able to update for the next 7 days as I`m travelling abroad but I`ll post the new chapter as soon as I return. The next one will be a Sansa chapter.  
> Forever yours.


	3. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa refuses something and makes a compromise.

   

           She feels like a feather against the grey sky. A blackened feather, a stormy wind, a wounded and clouded horyzon. That`s all she is, but it`s not worthless. Black is an appropriate color for the game of thrones. It used to burn, flaming red with hope and hapiness. Then it succumbed to its own darkness and the one from outside. That of many lonely nights, spent crying over past, present and future grief.

           And yet here she is, a child feigning woman`s weapons, wise enough to figure out she still has much to learn, but foolish enough to let herself dragged there. Feeling like a pawn, though she`s been playing a player.

           She`s staring at the remnants as if they were the remnants of her past, desolate and ominous in their grey loneliness.

 _What does he want of me_ …

           Petyr always has a plan, a gamble, a risk, one worthy of a mastermind willing to climb the ladder of chaos, to sacrifice everything in his way to the unfulfilled wish for the throne. She must be his way then, for he chose to save her. But he would also choose to destroy her for his own selfish goals.

           The wedding. Her wedding to Ramsay Bolton, the son of a criminal who killed every hope she clung to in King`s Landing, denying every pretense of honor and nobility, committing the horrendous  crime at a wedding.

            And now she is to avenge them. At least that`s what Petyr says. She knows all too well why she should, she just doesn`t fathom how. How could she hope to dissimulate and trick someone so cold and calculated, someone who managed to end the War of the Five Kings with one single stroke. She would be at their mercy, imprisoned in her own beloved home. She could not allow to lose Winterfell, the one pure, untainted memory she still has from before. There were mother and father, Robb, Jon, even Theon, Bran and Rickon and Arya, of course. And Lady, for sometimes she feels like she`s lost the reflection of her soul the night Lady was killed.

           How is she supposed now to taint even that cherished memory   with new suffering, desolate plans ending nowhere near happiness, at least not hers. She would have to marry that bastard, now legitimized, to play the dutiful and docile wife and give him what remained untouched of herself. She is now stumbling into another marriage, made possible only by Tyrion`s kindness and consideration.

           The choice of marrying the one she loves will never be hers. She doesn`t love Ramsay Bolton, far from it. And she doesn’t love Petyr, for it`s his desire she also has to think about, though she`d rather not. She is playing a game, smiling and rolling her eyes confidently, letting him touch her when he cannot control his actions, for thankfully short periods of time. But she fears the possibility that one day he`ll deem it safe enough to lose himself with her, to take from her whatever it is that he wants, be it her mother`s beauty, her own innocence or his too far-gone illusions.

           She remembers her façade falling, her crumbling disappointment both with him and herself when he confirmed her fear that the wedding was planned for her, not for him. She nearly burst into tears, but gathered her every whim of strength to keep her composure and state her arguments and refusal plainly.

           But then, with her face between his tender hands, hearing his words about not standing aside and refusing to let others rule for her, she wanted so much to believe him. To believe he has her best interests at heart, but it cannot be. Like he said, they are all liars, everything and everyone, in their own way. Lying to her, lying to others, lying to themselves.

           He almost convinced her, but now it all comes rushing back to mind – what he is and what he`s done. What he will do, if someone stands in his way. And she can`t let him dictate what she ought to do.

           ”Turn the horses round, then.”

           He`s staring at her, his face devoid of expression, but she can almost hear the wheels in his head turning.

           ”Can`t you do it, Sansa?”

           ”You said I don`t have to. That you won`t force me. I don`t want to marry Ramsay Bolton, you know it. Don`t ask me too, unless you want me to lose all my respect and consideration for you.” She speaks plainly, as it`s too important a price to pay to hide it behind fragile attempts at seduction.

           ”You don`t want to avege them ? ” There`s challenge in his manner now.

            ”I do, more than anything. More than I want peace, more than I thrieve for love. But there`s no vengeance in this plan, only further suffering, more roles to play. It requires too much, so I`m not willing to go through with this, Petyr, not now, not ever.”

           He smiles, something between Littlefinger and Petyr showing in the tightening of his lips.

           ”How fickle you women are, sweetling. How easily you call me Petyr now, while you`re asking me to abandon my grandest scheme yet, only for you.”

           She know what he is asking, but she has to get away from the Boltons.

           ”If we do this, you`ll lose me. ”

_”And if we don`t, I`ll get you ? ”_

           She nods apprehensively. ”You will. You`ll get as much of me as I can give.” She thinks of another kiss, long ago, lips clashing with hers like the storm of swords outside. But then he left her to Tyrion`s mercy, to Petyr`s cunning, to Joeffrey`s cruelty. But no, it would be unjust to fault someone with his intensity and underlying force of having forgotten someone he must have fancied. For he must have, she believes now, after feeling Petyr`s heated looks on her.

            So Petyr relents, taken in by the promise of attaining one of greatest goals.

            She feels like she is cheating on someone else, though she`s promised herself that when it`s all over and she`s at peace, she won`t belong to anyone. But now she`s sure she`ll never belong to Petyr Baelish.

             The road back is deadly quiet and she fears he might be already regretting his decision. But he agreed, if only to gain more of her trust and she`s grateful all the same for having a say in the matter.

             She knows her heart is hammering with regrets, but not for what she barely managed to avoid. Regrets for having fancied Joeffrey so much with the blindness of childhood stories and dreams, for having gone to King`s Landing with her head cloudy with their lies. She still mourns for having betrayed her father, not knowing how to play this wretched game of deceit. She regrets not having gone with the Hound when she had the chance, for dangerous though he was, he had given her valid reasons to believe he would never hurt her, quite the contrary. But now it doesn`t really matter, for she`ll have to somehow manage on her own.

             She comes back from the whirlwind of her thoughts and sees Petyr staring at her, a carefully constructed expression on his face, his eyes devoid of tenderness. She knows he doesn`t like that dreamy look and far-away disposition of hers, with the underlying conclusion that she`s thinking of someone else.

             ”Don`t fret, my lord. I know it grieves you so to see me unattentive. I was thinking about the ones I lost, the ones I cared about.” She isn`t lying and he must notice her sincerity, but he doesn`t let it pass.

             ” Your gaze, it was glazed. Dreamy. Almost lustful, I`d say, but I`d offend a delicate maid who surely isn`t capable of suck looks.”

             ”I believe our agreement was enough to convince you on that matter, my lord. Perhaps I was thinking of you.” She looks away.

             „Perhaps.” This will do, she thinks.

              Their trip companions, riding behind them, must be dazzled. But they should have learned by know to cater to every whim of their weird master. They retrace their steps while Sansa tries to compose her neutral expression. But she knows she`ll have to do better, to convince him of her willingness, to make herself worthy of his pretense of a sacrifice. So she stands straighter, raises her eyes, turns her head towards him and smiles.

 

****************************

             They take rooms at the same inn where they ate a few days before, where they met Brienne of Tarth. Another chance to escape, one she easily let go of then. But now she recalls the sincerity ingrained in that peculiar woman, how every word rang true, how every look seemed to tell her: _Let me rescue you._

             She would go with her willingly now, but she`s trapped again, this time without much chance of escaping.

             Now, after having cleaned herself from the road`s harshness, she`s combing her hair, the black that doesn`t resemble her anymore, yet somehow seems more relevant than ever. The room is simple, everything she expected it to be, but brutally different from what she used to dream of in her youthful imagination.

            She dreamed of being a wife, not a mistress. She`d rather have Tyrion in Petyr`s place, for he would only show her kindness, not expectations to fulfill and pretenses to maintain. Or the Hound, for he`d understand her shame, he`d mind her purity and dreams even though he`d mock her for them.

            But she only has Petyr to wait for, while apprehensively churning on his words: _I`ll come to your room tonight. Wait for me._

_As if he`d left her anything else to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. This is the first Sansa chapter. Hope you like it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. There`s more to come, of course :)  
> They ought to have another chance.


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